


I have to go get on her case for needless theatrics.

by bramblePatch



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Remix, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2017-12-05 09:01:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/721286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bramblePatch/pseuds/bramblePatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The end of the world is coming, and it's easier to see from certain universes than others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I have to go get on her case for needless theatrics.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [suitablyskippy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/suitablyskippy/gifts).
  * Inspired by [this is NOT an alien friendly zone!!!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/612117) by [suitablyskippy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/suitablyskippy/pseuds/suitablyskippy). 



You sleep poorly that night.

You sleep poorly and you wake grasping for the notepad and pen on your bedside table. You've been you long enough to know that when you dream hard enough to wake yourself again and again, you had damn well be ready to record the phantasmagoria before your waking mind manages to reassert itself fully.

This morning's dreams, though intense, are disjointed, and you're almost tempted to file the page away to review later, for next time writer's block rears its ugly head and you need a fresh shot of bullshit symbolism to paint across the Complacency's path. You've rarely known a dream to _feel_ so important, though - _take note of this_ seems burned across the back of your eyes like a sunburst, and you spend a long moment pondering wings and snaggle-toothed skulls and smoldering wreckage before you sigh and set the pad aside. Maybe it will make more sense after you've fueled up on caffeine and carbohydrates. 

Your apartment is small, and you're still shrugging into your robe as you reach the kitchen. Someday, you want a house big enough to get lost in, miles from anything, where you can write to the sound of nothing but your own typing and a tape deck and birdsong and maybe a nice water feature. In a few years, you think, when you've got a feeling the young adult wizardly literature market will really take off. That's a few years, yet, though - your biggest competitor is still only beginning to look for the publisher that will pull her out of poverty, although you're not at all certain how you know that.

For the time being you're content enough working as a secretary at SkaiaNet and biding your time. You're not sure whether your feeling that this is a temporary thing is intuition or just youthful restlessness. You're also not sure whether your loyalty to Ms. English is gratitude or intrigue – you're not ready, just yet, to say that it's destiny, although you catch yourself thinking a long those lines once in a while. After all, though you write fantasy, you only live in science fiction. Massive leaps in technological prowess and secretive alien invaders and your own sometimes uncanny intuition do not imply the fates taking an interest. 

With a yawn, you shuffle, zombie-like, through the necessary steps to acquiring breakfast. Switch on the little TV that lives balanced on top of the microwave. Start up the coffee maker - it hisses like a dying beast, but it still makes good coffee and honestly it's nicer to look at than the current SkaiaNet model. There's no question of which side you fall on in the great technological showdown of the century, but sometimes you more than half wish she would just sack the entire design department because really, do they have any sense of aesthetics whatsoever? And then you remember that most of those eyesores run rather to Ms. English's personal tastes and you shaker your head and mutter to yourself about not sending a quantum physicist to do an artist's job. 

As you ponder the question of bagel or cold cereal, the morning news says something about "yesterday's high-speed chase" and “shots fired” and "Chicago" and "person of interest, Jade English, CEO of SkaiaNet," and you turn to the TV so quickly that you inadvertently slam the cupboard closed behind you.

She's not going to be answering her phone, under the circumstances. That doesn't mean you don't try to call her. You get her voicemail twice before you give up. Then you punch in a different number, telling yourself as you do that you're just making sure he knows what's going on. You're not seeking reassurance from a guy five years younger than you. That'd be silly and a little embarrassing.

[Universes in the Past, but Not Many]

You've given up on trying to pinpoint Jade's location by her time zone, because either she has the least predictable sleeping habits you've ever encountered or she's telling the truth about using the computer in her sleep. Both have interesting and somewhat worrying psychological implications for your friend. If she's really as prone to narcoleptic fits and sleep instant messaging as she claims, you think she probably ought to seek professional help. There's only so much an amateur – talented though you might like to consider yourself – can do.

Anyway, you've also given up on being surprised when a message arrives from her at any time of the day or night. You count yourself lucky when, as this afternoon, she messages you at a time when you're awake.

\-- gardenGnostic [GG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] \--  
GG: rose is it new york that has the big statue of a lady in a spiky hat??  
TT: If by ‘lady in a spiky hat’ you mean the Statue of Liberty, then yes, you are correct.  
GG: omg no way really??  
TT: Really, truly, indubitably so.  
TT: Why the sudden interest in globally iconic statuary?  
GG: ok well i guess new york is going to burn down soon!!  
TT: Excuse me?  
GG: lol d/w rose, we all are gonna be ok :p  
GG: im not too sure of the details yet but its going to be the most fantastic adventure!!!!!  
TT: Jade,  
\-- GG is offline! -- 

Well. That's a little worrying, but by Jade Harley standards, only a little. You wonder idly if John has put her up to this – it seems like about the right combination of overdramatic and overplayed to be a collaboration of the bucktooth brigade. If it is, he'd never admit it, of course. Not to you, anyway. And trying to get Dave to grill John is like pulling teeth.

Well, now. Speak of the devil and he appears.

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist \--  
TG: rose please tell egbert i loved him  
TG: in the most ironic way possible  
TG: you know  
TG: as one does  
TT: Oh?  
TT: And what occasions this heartfelt bout of gay chicken by proxy?  
TT: Are you overtaken by visions of calamity as well?  
TG: im overtaken by bro systematically sharpening every weapon in the apartment that will remotely hold an edge  
TT: I see.  
TG: im not saying bros going to go full waco here  
TG: but  
TT: But you think your brother is going to hold off the federal government for nearly two months, wielding a shitty katana.  
TG: hey now you sound like you dont think he could pull that off  
TT: It does sound a little far fetched, Dave.  
TG: im wounded rose  
TG: my pride as a strider is totally fucked over  
TG: im gonna have to change my name to smith and go become an accountant now  
TG: never touch image editor or turntables again  
TG: do you hear that  
TG: thats the sound of thousands of sbahj readers crying out in pain  
TG: are you happy rose  
TG: are you pleased with what youve done  
TT: Are you quite done?  
TG: yeah i think so  
TT: If I hear anything about federal agents besieging a Houston high rise, I will be sure to pass the message along to John.  
TG: knew i could count on you  
TT: And I would have thought that most of the audience of Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff would have built up an impressive pain tolerance by now.  
TG: youre tearing this family apart rose  
TT: I wouldn't have it any other way.  
TT: Ah! And there's Jade, back online. If you'll excuse me, I have to go get on her case for needless theatrics.  
TG: ok cool

There she is, indeed. You switch chat windows.

\-- GG is online! --  
TT: A half hour pause after an assertion like that seemed a little melodramatic, even to me.   
TT: Although, of course, I bow to your superior grasp of the practice.   
TT: No one wields ellipsiskind quite like you do.  
GG: sorry rose i was asleep!!!! im awake now though and 100x less goofy, hehe :D  
TT: Yes, of course. The observable reduction in goofiness was certainly the first thing I noticed in that message.  
GG: look i just wanted to let you know! because i say some really dumb stuff when im sleeping sometimes  
GG: yes the world might catch fire a bit! there might be a bit of stuff that looks sort of apocalypse-y or whatever  
GG: but if you stick with me well all be a-ok!!!!!  
TT: ... Were I given to belief in your patently ridiculous sleep visions, this reassurance would do nothing to reassure.  
GG: but you dont believe in my dreams though do you!! ;)  
TT: Naturally I do not.  
GG: naturally ;) ;)   
GG: *wink!!!!!*  
TT: But I will admit to finding a certain level of comfort in your Cassandraic babbling.   
TT: A note of melodic insanity amidst the otherwise monotonic tedium of my daily life. So,   
TT: Thank you.  
GG: rose its going to be the best apocalypse the world has ever seen!! and you can hold me to that ;)

There's a small bit in the back of your mind which would dearly like to point out that despite your protestations, you aren't sure that Jade's doomsaying is as ridiculous as Dave's. You squash that thought as firmly as possible. Surely, the idea of Dave's Bro finally and violently losing his grip on reality is somewhere above the entirety of New York City burning down, on the list of things that are likely to happen.

[Universes in the Future, but Not Many]

“They what, now?” you demand, pacing a narrow track in your living room, the beige coils of the phone cord wrapped around your fingers. At the other end, Dave laughs, the sharp cackle of a kid who is absolutely certain that he's smarter than the world is.

“Tried to hospitalize the robot,” he repeats. “You'd think the old lady'd have programmed it to refuse aid or something. I mean, this isn't the first time someone's had to pay off an EMT after an assassination attempt, is it?”

“No,” you sigh. “No, it certainly isn't. Still no word from her?”

“When there is, I figure it'll come your way,” he replies seriously. “She likes you best.”

“She doesn't.” You sigh. “She cares about you, too, Dave. Just because she's a little put out that you're refusing the SkaiaNet scholarship and skipping higher education altogether...”

There's a moment of awkward silence, and then Dave says, “I've got shit to get done, Rose, I'll talk to you later. Let me know if English gets in touch?”

“Yes, of course,” you agree, and before you can say more, he hangs up.

It's been several days since Ms. English went on the lam, and going to work each day in a surreal experience; as far as you know, none of your coworkers are as far down the rabbit hole as you and Dave are. None of them know that the real Jade English is on the run; none of them know what she would be running from. Going to the office each day is like entering a parallel universe where everything actually is ok, and you think that if you didn't have Dave to verify that this whole mess is not only possible but likely, maybe even inevitable, you think you'd be doubting your own sanity by now. 

Instead, you just have the mounting desire to stab someone in the neck with a knitting needle, but that'll pass. Probably.

Finally, that evening the phone rings again, and this time when you pick it up you can hear the tell-tale distortion of Ms. English's personal encryption program, along with what sounds like one _hell_ of a storm and – is that a baby? You think it's a baby, but you don't have time to properly analyze what you heard because the words come through, tired, a little biting and sharp and skipping the pleasantries: “I got ninety nine problems and that bitch is all of them.”

You laugh, as much from relief as humor, and reply, “You seem entangled in girl problems; and it's unquestionable fact that I feel bad for you, son.”

Even through the phone and the incryption and the who knows how many miles of distance, you swear you can hear her rolling her eyes. “Don't even _talk_ to me about girl problems, Lalonde.”

“Destruction of a universe, mindwipe of a civilization, ruthless undercutting of an otherwise entirely affordable range of bathroom suite furnishings,” you agree, grinning. “I’ve written to Cosmo, but as yet they’ve no advice to offer us.”

It's good to hear her voice. Maybe some day you'll be equipped to stand opposed to the Batterwitch with nothing but your own wits to back you up, but for the moment it's an enormous comfort to hear her voice. Maybe now you can actually get something down about this whole mess.

**Author's Note:**

> Credit for the dialog and pesters between Rose and Jade goes to [suitablyskippy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/suitablyskippy/pseuds/suitablyskippy), author of the original work


End file.
